“Oh, right. You’re the superhero guy. Time to retire your cape. Your friend is doing fine. We found a real doctor to check in on him from time to time.”

“I’d really like to see him,” August said, trying to plaster concern across his face. “I can see that there’s an open seat right next to him. I’ll buckle as soon as I sit down. I swear.”

The flight attendant rolled her eyes. “You guys are all the same,” she said. “Which means you’ll bug me until you get your way.” She backed up until August could enter the row with the old man and his grandson.

August quickly scooted in, careful not to bump into the old man, who was lying back in his seat with a cold compress against his head. August buckled his seat belt right away under Janice’s watchful eye.

“And keep that kid in his seat too,” the flight attendant called back, grabbing at seatbacks as she pulled her way to the front of the plane.

August waited until she was a safe distance away before speaking to the grandson. “Hi,” he said. “Do you remember me?”

“Sure,” the boy said. “You helped my grandpa.”

August grinned. “How’s he doing?”

“Okay, I guess. They gave him some medicine. He’s been sleeping a long time, but that’s better than being dead.”

“Well put.” He couldn’t disagree with the kid’s simple logic. He stuck out his hand. “My name is August. What’s yours?”

“Clayton,” he said, slapping a low high five.

“Clayton, I’ve got a question for you,” August said, inspecting his ketchup-stained G. I. Joe T-shirt, beige camouflage pants, and black high tops. “What’s your favorite thing in the whole world?”

Clayton didn’t have to think twice. “Tiger sharks.”

August was hoping for him to say something simpler, like maybe bubblegum. “Tiger sharks, huh? Well, that’s pretty cool. I like tiger sharks too.”

“They’re not real tigers,” Clayton said, lifting his eyebrows as if worried that he might be leading his new friend astray. “They’re just a special kind of shark.”

“Do they have big teeth?”

“Really big!” Clayton said, opening his own mouth wide.

August looked over to his right at the old man. August felt assured that he was fast asleep, even though the compress hid the eyes. August turned back to the boy. “What if I told you I could get you a tiger shark?”

The boy crossed his arms, skeptical. “Now?”

“Not right now. Tiger sharks don’t like to fly, so we’d at least have to wait until we landed.”

“You can really get me a tiger shark?” Clayton asked.

August paused momentarily. He wasn’t going to lie to the kid. But if this horrible undertow turned into a favorable tide . . . “Yes,” he finally said. “I most certainly can. But you’re going to have to help me first.”